The Crossover Read online

  I was getting really frustrated after driving two hours. I was soaked down to my underwear. I really didn’t want to go home empty handed.

  “Oh my, you are in luck. Three books came in this morning. They were probably dispatched before the cancellation. You must have a little one at home.”

  “No, the book is for me,” I responded.

  The lady gave me a funny look at first.

  “The book is on offer for nine pounds. Cash or card?”

  I felt a sense of accomplishment when I paid for the book, titled Nemo The Talking Fish.

  On the way out I stopped by a Starbucks to pick up a large latte with chocolate sprinkles.

  Ahhh. I love good coffee on wet days like this.

  With the coffee in one hand and the book in the other I headed toward the parking lot. As I approached my car some guy bumped into me from behind and made me spill my coffee. He didn’t say excuse me and kept going. He couldn’t have been British. I wasn’t feeling confrontational so I gave it a pass and just yelled at him.

  “Hey, how about excuse me?”

  Damn foreigners.

  Halfway home I realized my wallet was missing. I pulled over and checked underneath the seats. My wallet was gone. I thought I may have left it at Starbucks. I would have called Starbucks to see if I left it on the counter but my cellphone was gone too. I couldn’t wait to get home to make my calls.

  As soon as I got home I ran out of my car and straight inside to make an urgent call. I found out my wallet and phone weren’t at Starbucks. I called my mobile phone provider to report the incident.

  “Excuse me, my name is Clay Thompson and I think I lost my cellphone. My number is xxxxxxxxxxx.”

  “Okay, Mr. Thompson, I have to ask you a few security questions, is that all right?”

  I flunked security because I couldn’t remember my password I set over ten years ago. The operator waived security because I knew my average monthly debit amount.

  “Mr. Thompson your phone just terminated an active call a few minutes ago.”

  “A few minutes ago? To where?”

  “The call duration was 156 minutes to Cape Town, South Africa.”

  I was pissed. I started to question why I felt so compelled to go to Milton Keynes in the first place. I told Carl about what happened. He offered to look into it. The man who bumped me from behind was probably a thief. I immediately canceled all my credit cards. Everything I lost could be replaced except my phone; it had all my pictures of Monet saved on the SD card. I didn’t care about all the fancy applications and functionalities that I never used; it was a cherished gift complete with fond memories.

  I placed Jo’s book on my coffee table next my copy of The Mogadishu Diaries. After I fed Missy I looked out the window and noticed the unlit solar light in the far right corner. I did an experiment the night before. I moved the light about a foot in either direction and the damn light came on. It worked everywhere in the garden except where Nemo was.

  I came inside the house and heard an email notification on my PC upstairs. It was from Monet.

  Clay, I leave for the US at 4pm on Delta. I’ve been here for the last two weeks.

  I was on an emotional rollercoaster the last two weeks and this was a big drop. I was glad to hear from Monet but it was tempered by the fact she had been in country for so long without calling. Either way, I was back in my car, destination Heathrow Airport.

  I parked my car in the short stay and ran like hell to departures. I didn’t see a flight to Dulles at 4pm on the large monitors overhead. I waited in line at the customer service desk. I was anxious at the thought of missing Monet.

  “Ma’am are you sure there’s not a Delta flight to Dulles at 4pm?”

  I couldn’t accept no for an answer. An on-duty manager confirmed I had the wrong information.

  Damn. I was so disappointed. I really wanted to see Monet. I proceeded to the exits.

  Just before I entered the large revolving doors someone bumped me from behind. This time rudeness would not get a pass. I was feeling confrontational. I stopped in my tracks and spun around in anger.

  “Listen, why don’t you… Monet?”

  Monet was standing there in the flesh, in living color. She was fine as hell in her tight jeans and black silk top.

  Monet responded.

  “Why don’t I what?” she sassed.

  “Monet, I looked all over for you. There is no 4pm flight to Dulles. I checked.”

  “Yeah, I know. This was a test.”

  “Test?”

  “Clay, I had to know if you still loved me.”

  I drew closer to her.

  “Did I pass?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “The jury’s still out. Still deliberating.”

  I placed my hand under her chin and poured my heart and soul into one of the world’s most passionate kisses. I missed her soft lips. They missed mine too.

  Twenty Seconds Later...

  “Okay, okay, Clay. I get it. Look, people are staring at us.”

  “Monet, can we get back together? I’m miserable without you,” I pleaded.

  “Clay, do I really need to answer that?” Monet responded as she grabbed hold of my hand staring at me with those light, beautiful, brown eyes.

  We drew a small crowd in front of the revolving doors; it really was a magical moment. We got in my Range Rover and headed home.

  Monet had been staying at the Hilton in Birmingham. She told me she got the job and would be relocating in September without Michelle. I mentioned that Jo had passed and Monet took it pretty hard. I didn’t relay my recent paranormal experiences. Those experiences would go down in my journal.

  Over the next few days Carl kept me apprised of the leads he had regarding my stolen wallet and phone based on CCTV footage in the Milton Keynes parking lot. But more importantly he got a break in the Central London case. Monet and I had just returned from a dinner meal in Cambridge, when Carl dropped in on us.

  “Clay, the storm has passed,” he said excitedly.

  I never knew Carl to display emotion. I invited him to sit with Monet and I in the living room. I turned the TV down.

  “What storm, Carl?”

  “We got the bastard, finally. Special Branch picked him up early this morning.”

  The news was a major relief. I became more emotionally invested in the case after the death of Jo. Monet and I had a few questions.

  “So how did you find him, Carl?” Monet asked.

  Carl’s response initially upset me.

  “Jo led us to him,” he responded, standing in the doorway.

  I felt a little heartache.

  “But Carl, Jo’s dead,” I said somberly.

  Carl reached into his pocket and presented me with my wallet and my phone. I was confused.

  “Clay, there is something I want you to hear.”

  Carl took my phone and pressed a few buttons. We listened.

  “Jo, relax. You know how bad traffic is in London. Do you know what he looks like?”

  “He’s tall, wears a pony tail and drives a black A5. I don’t even know what an A5 is.”

  Monet and I flashed back to Jo’s date in London. We vividly remembered that call. Somehow, I inadvertently recorded the conversation.

  Carl sat next to me on the sofa. He explained.

  “Our forensic team reviewed the recording and there was evidence of a potential rape. The killer must have thought Jo was transmitting so he laid low. He couldn’t carry out his plan that night because he thought someone was on the other end listening. Unfortunately, Jo was the only one who could ID him so he came back for her. The lowlife that stole your phone had no idea that crucial information was on the SD card. He was just a random thief. I don’t know what business you had at Milton Keynes but you were in the right place at the right time. It’s strange how things like that work out.”

  Monet and I were stunned and emotionally overwhelmed. Carl left us to stew on that. It would take the re
st of the evening before we could resume normalcy, but we did. I was glad the story never made the News. Carl kept his promise that the killer would go down as one of the most dangerous murders you never heard of. He would die in prison without the notoriety he so desperately sought.

  The night before Monet left we took an evening stroll around the estate. It was a beautiful night under the starry sky. We returned home to see Carl’s daughter, Gabby, on our doorstep.

  “Clay, I think your assistance is required. Go see what your little friend wants, babe,” Monet said.

  I approached Gabby and dropped to one knee.

  “Hmm, I bet you lost your bouncy ball in my backyard. Am I right this time?”

  Gabby nodded yes.

  I let Monet inside and Gabby followed me around back. I took a stutter step as I entered the back yard. I was taken aback.

  “Oh, my god,” I gasped.

  Gabby ran to collect her ball and she thanked me before going home.

  The solar light in the far right corner started to flicker for the very first time. I walked towards it with a very heavy heart. The flickering flashed bright in the night. I started to think of Jo and got a little teary-eyed. The light came on. Emotion got the best of me. I was so happy. Jo had finally found peace.

  I went inside and observed the beautiful lights from the kitchen window. The one in the far right corner was the brightest among the four. It was mesmerizing. This revelation I would keep to myself.

  I went upstairs to join Monet in the bedroom. Monet had a few questions for me.

  “Did she find what she was looking for?”

  I looked out the bedroom window and observed the lights once more.

  “Yeah, babe, she found it,” I replied, staring out the bedroom window.

  I sat on the bed and Monet placed her leg over mine.

  “Is she home?”

  “... Yeah, she’s home.”

  Sometimes lost souls need a little help from the living… for the crossover.

  In Memory of Jo

  (not her real name)

  Jo, in the short time you were here we got to be good friends. Never in a million years did I think I would be writing a book based on your character, at least not under these tragic circumstances. I hope you approve of the way I portrayed you in this book, and particularly our friendship. I have a daily reminder of you and I will never forget you. Gone too soon.

  From the Author

  The Crossover is a recount of a personal paranormal experience, and those of my closest friends and family. I changed the names of the ghosts that haunted our family home in the 1950s to keep their names out of print. I am not one to glamorize the paranormal but there are a few events that I cannot explain. The story of the solar lights was witnessed by neighbors and still remains a mystery. And finally, the exact words I heard that day (headphones) were the following.

  Dear Lord, don’t let us perish.

  In real life there was another woman’s voice that accompanied those prayers. The words she spoke were sinister, vile and unrepeatable. I deemed her message unsuitable for this book.

  Thanks to all my friends who shared their personal ghost stories with me over the years. John Manders, Alex and Cathy Drinkwater, Alison and Chris Port, Terry Hogan and Vickki Baker, Harvey Turnbull, Bev and John Bertram, Marianne Davis, John Armeau, The Willard Library in Evansville, Indiana. Special thanks to my family.

  The book mentioned in the story The Seduction of a Military Wife was published as The Seduction of Monet Dawson on 4 September 2013. It is the prequel to The Crossover.

  — E. Clay

  My father, the late Rev. T

  “God Plus One is a Majority”

  From a Sermon in 1988

  My Mother Brenda and I

  Book Signing at Barnes and Noble 2013

  Other titles by the author: Flagrant Misconduct, My Name is Elijah, Insider Threat and The Mogadishu Diaries. Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

  This literary work depicts real life situations and is not intended to glamorize or promote infidelity.

  www.new-paradigm-publishers.org